"But, Papa," Mihas said. "If she has half as much as they say she does-"
"It's none of our business how much she has. And even if she has more than the five Sovereigns of the Southlands put together, none of us has any claim to a single coin." He looked at Besh. "Forgive me for saying so, but if it comes to it, and the elders have to do something with her home, whatever gold there is should be used for something the whole village needs. A new well, maybe, or repairs to the lane north of the marketplace."wasn't certain what to say. None of the elders had thought of this, and yet he knew that Sirj had hit upon the perfect solution to their problem. It occurred to him that he had thought the man an idiot for so long that he'd never stopped to consider the possibility that there was a reason Elica had fallen in love with him.
"I guess that makes no sense, does it?" Sirj said, misinterpreting Besh's silence.
"Actually…" Besh shifted in his chair. He could feel Elica's eyes on him. "Actually, I was just thinking that it makes a great deal of sense. I'll suggest it the next time the elders meet."stared at him briefly, perhaps searching for some sign that Besh was mocking him. Seeing none, he nodded again. "My thanks."
"What do you think you'll find in her hut?" Elica asked after some time.
"I couldn't say," Besh told her. "Probably little of any consequence. But we have nothing else, and the people in this village want us to do something, even if they don't know what." He took a bite of bread.
"There was a crowd outside the sanctuary this evening, waiting to hear what we'd decided."'s eyes widened a bit. "A crowd? How many?"
"At least fifty. Pyav handled them well, but I only remember crowds gathering outside our meetings like that three or four times-usually inof flood, and once when the pestilence came to Irikston."
"Do they know what you and Pyav intend to do?" Sirj asked.
"We told them, yes."
"Then they'll be there, too. At Lici's house."knew immediately that he was right about this as well. "What would you do in our position?" he asked, surprising himself as much as Sirj. Well, he thought, grinning inwardly at what he saw on the younger man's face, perhaps not quite as much.
"I don't know," Sirj said quickly. "I didn't mean-"
"I know you didn't," Besh said. "I was asking for your advice. You seem to understand all of this better than I do."
"I doubt that." He ran a hand through his dark hair. "I don't know what I'd do." He glanced at the younger children, who were deep into their own conversation now. "Truth is," he went on, his voice low, "I've been terrified of Lici since I was old enough to walk."
"All of us have been," Elica put in. "I think she wanted it that way." "I'm not afraid of her," Mihas said, sounding so terribly young. "Neither are Keff and Vad."glared at him. "Then you're fools. Now, if you've finished your supper go fetch some water."stood up slowly. "Yes, Mama."
"Two buckets, Mihas. One for the dishes, and one for you and the young ones."
"But, Mama-"expression on Elica's face would have frightened Lici herself. The boy wisely fell silent and did as he was told.finished his meal while Elica and Sirj cleared the rest of the dishes from the table. When he'd finished, he took his pipe outside and smoked a bit while he watched stars emerge in the night sky. After a time he heard footsteps behind him and felt Elica lay a hand on his shoulder.
"Do you remember some time ago when we last talked about Lici?" she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It's been nearly a turn now. I said that she'd be dead soon."
"I remember," he told her. "I also remember saying myself that maybe her death would be for the best."
"Do you think that… that maybe the gods heard us?"
"If the gods heeded what I said to them on matters of life and death, your mother would be sitting by my side." He looked up at her and reached for her hand. "Whatever has become of Lici, it had nothing to do with us. Unless you conjured something without telling me."smiled and shook her head, glancing up at the stars. "No." She kissed his cheek. "Good night, Father."
"Good night."sat a while longer, waiting for the owl to call. It often did this time of year, usually from up in the hills, its voice carrying down through the village.
"Where are you, Lici," Besh whispered. "Maybe I'm a fool, but I think that if you were dead, I'd know it. So where are you? What is it you're up to?"heard no answer, of course, save for a few crickets and the soft gurgle of the wash. Eventually he did hear the owl, although it seemed farther off than usual, its cries thin and mournful, like some wraith summoning the old and infirm to Bian's realm. Besh shivered.
"Do you hear that, Lici? Do you hear the Deceiver's call?", he stretched his back and then walked inside. But even after he lay down in his soft bed, Besh couldn't sleep. After a time, he stopped even trying. He merely listened to the owl and stared up into the darkness. And he wondered what he would find in the old woman's hut.woke up to dark grey clouds that hung low over the hills, faint tendrils of mist nearly brushing the treetops. By the time he dressed, ate breakfast, and checked on his garden, a steady rain had begun to fall. He walked to Pyav's forge and the two of them made their way to the old woman's hut. Despite the rain, the dirt track in front of the but was choked with townspeople. Besh saw many of the same faces he had seen outside the sanctuary the day before, but this crowd was even bigger than the previous evening's had been.townspeople said nothing as Besh and the eldest approached the house, and though Pyav eyed them as the two men walked past, he kept silent as well. Besh followed him to the door. There was no lock and so they simply pushed the door open and stepped inside. Besh took care to close the door behind them, and so he had his back to the main room when he heard the eldest give a low whistle.
"Blood and earth!" Pyav muttered.turned in time to see the eldest tap two fingers against his lips four times-the warding against evil. An instant later, Besh did the same.but had been left a mess. Flies buzzed around uncleaned pots of stew and dirty bowls that had grown rank with the passage of so much time. Tattered clothes lay in a pile near the unmade bed, and a washbasin stood half empty in the far corner, a thick grey film floating on the water.covering it all, scattered as if they had fallen from the sky in place of rain or snow, were small clippings of willow and rush, cedar bark and vine. They were everywhere, in every corner of the room. In some places they had gathered in small mounds, like drifts of snow on a windy day. A few floated in the basin, others lay on the eating table. The floor, bed, and chairs were all littered with them. They were of different hues, and yet they were all oddly similar. One end of each scrap was untamed, while the other had been cut at a precise angle. Some were as long as a man's finger; others were barely longer than a baby's toe. But all had been sliced at that same angle. A craftswoman as skilled as Lici would never have varied such a thing.could hardly imagine the frenzy of basketweaving that had created such a sight. She must have worked on the baskets for turn upon turn; it might even have been years. He took a tentative step forward, his foot making a crunching sound, as if he were walking on a forest path covered with dried leaves.seemed to start at the sound, as if awakened from some odd trance.
"Are you all right, Eldest?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine." He rubbed a hand over his broad face. "From the looks of things I'd say that she was taken against her will."frowned. "You believe so?"
"You don't? Look at this place."old man shook his head slowly. True, the but was in such disrepair that a person could easily draw such a conclusion. But Besh couldn't imagine Lici being made to do anything against her will. On the other hand, he had no trouble imagining that she lived in this sort of filth, like a wild creature of the wood.
"I think maybe she simply lived this way," he finally said.started to answer, but then stopped himself. Clearly he didn't know what to believe.began to walk around the room, as did the eldest, their steps making a good deal of noise.didn't touch anything, feeling that it wasn't his place to do so. Pyav was a bit bolder, but not much. It almost seemed that they both expected the old witch to walk in the door at any moment.
"I thought she had stopped making baskets," Besh said after some time.
"Clearly not."
"But have you seen her sell any?"
"Not in many years, no."opened his hands, indicating the room. For all the cuttings strewn about on the floor and furniture, there wasn't a single basket in sight. "Then what has she done with them all?"just stared at him. "You think she took them with her," he said at length.nodded. "In which case, she might have just gone to trade with the Qirsi clans, or to sell them in one of the five sovereignties. She could be coming back."looked around again, a look of disgust lingering on his features. "But even if she lived this way from day to day, don't you think she would have taken a bit more care before leaving for so long? At least to clean up her cooking, or to throw out her wash water. Something."
"Certainly you and I would do so, my friend. Most people would. But Lici… she's never been like other people. At least not in all the years I've known her."eldest nodded. "You may be right." But Besh could see that his thoughts had already gone in another direction. "You won't approve, Besh, but even knowing that she may be alive, that she could return any day now, I want to search this but a bit more."
"To what end?" Besh asked, doing his best to keep his face and tone neutral.
"For too long, people in this village have been spinning yarns about Lici's treasure. I think it's time we put those stories to rest."
"But what if they're true?"
"Do you really believe they are?"
"I don't know." How many times had Besh said that about Lici in the past few days?stood chewing his lip for several moments. "If we find gold," he finally said, "we'll leave it where it is and simply tell everyone that we found nothing. But I fear that eventually those people outside will take matters into their own hands, come in here, and take whatever they can find. And I want to know exactly what's at risk."
"All right," Besh said with a small shrug. He gestured toward the far side of her room, where the bed and washbasin stood. "I'll start over here."truth, there weren't many places to look. Lici had little furniture and few belongings of any sort. There was an old wooden chest at the foot of her bed that was covered with scuffs and burn marks, as if it had once stood near a hearth. It had a rusted lock on it, but the lock seemed to have stopped working long ago; Besh had no trouble getting the chest open. Inside he found clothes and a few old bound books that might well have belonged to Sylpa, who used to trade for volumes with the peddlers who came through Kirayde. He found as well several pieces of parchment-letters from the look of them. They were tied together with a yellowed piece of twine; Besh left them as they were.was nothing to be found under or behind her bed, and the rest of the floor on this side of the but was bare, save for the basket cuttings.was still searching the kitchen area, so Besh stepped into a small storage room at the back of the house. Here he found several bowls and cups, none of them as clean as the dirtiest dish in Elica's kitchen. He also found a few baskets, though all of them looked old, and even had they not, there weren't nearly enough of them to explain all the mess in the front room.of the shelves were empty, and had been for some time, judging by the thick dust that covered them. But in the back corner on the floor he spied an old wooden crate. He walked to it and knelt down, pulling it out from under the shelves and brushing away dust and spiderwebs.the box, he saw a canvas sack that might once have been used to carry one stone of grain. It was closed and tied at the top with the same yellow twine that had been used to bind the letters. And when Besh lifted it out of the box, it rang with the sound of coins. He started to call out to Pyav, but then he spotted something else. In the box beneath the sack, hidden from view until now, was a thick leather-bound volume. Besh put the money sack aside and picked up the book, thumbing through it briefly. It was written in a woman's hand and for a moment he wondered if Lici had kept a daybook as a younger woman. It didn't seem like something she would have done, and the neat writing in the book seemed in such contrast to the state of the woman's home that he found it hard to believe they could belong to the same person. Then again, he hadn't known Lici very well.opened to the first entry and saw that the date given was "Fire Moon, year 1119."
! Nearly a century ago. This had to have been Sylpa's daybook, not Lici's. He was tempted to begin reading it, right there and then. What a treasure he had found-far more so to his mind than whatever coins jingled in the bag beside him. He could learn so much from this volume about the history of Kirayde, perhaps about his own mother and father.wouldn't that have been a violation, as well? Sylpa had left this book in Lici's hands, and for whatever reason, Lici had chosen to keep it private. Reluctantly, Besh returned the journal to the box.
"I found it," he called to Pyay.moment later the eldest appeared in the doorway. "Did you really?" Besh held up the sack and shook it.
"Have you opened it?"
"No," Besh said. "It's quite heavy, though. Even if only half of it is gold and the rest silver, I'd say that she's by far the wealthiest person in the village."
"Damn," Pyav said, staring at the sack. "I'd been hoping it wasn't true."
"Do you want to count it?"eldest shook his head. "No. The amount is none of our affair. Put it back and let's be done with this place." He glanced over his shoulder. "I keep thinking she's going to walk in on us, and to this day I'm still afraid of the woman."smiled. "So am I." He put the sack back in the box, and pushed the box back under the shelves. "There was a daybook in that box, too," he said, climbing to his feet stiffly. "I think it might have belonged to Sy1pa."
"I'm sure that would make for interesting reading," Pyav said, leading Besh toward the front door of the hut. "I was still shy of three fours when she died, but I always liked Sylpa."stepped out of the house and into the rain. The crowd was waiting Wet pale faces peered at them from under hats and hoods.
"Did you find it?" asked the same fair-haired man who had spoken for them the evening before.
"Find what?" the eldest said, sounding tired.
"Her treasure, of course," came another voice.
"What she considers treasures, you might consider worthless trifles. Remember that, friends."men and women started to object and Pyav raised a hand, silencing them. "I know what it is you want," he said. "And I assure you, Besh and I saw no gold or silver in that house. Now go back to your shops and homes, and leave Lici's house in peace."was cleverly done, and Besh wondered if the eldest had anticipated this when he refused to look inside the sack.
"What did you find?" the man asked.
"Cuttings from her basketry," Besh said. "Lots of them. More than I would have thought possible. I'm convinced that she's gone off to trade her baskets with the clans or with the Eandi. And I'm convinced as well that she means to come back."
"There," Pyav said. "I agree with Besh, and I believe that settles things. It's still Lici's house, for better or worse. And unless you want to be pilloried for thieving, you'll stay out of it.", and with much grumbling, the mob began to disperse. Pyav and Besh remained in front of the but until all the villagers had moved off.
"We might want to continue to post a guard," Besh said, watching the last of them walk away. "At least for a time."
"Yes," Pyav said. "For a time." He glanced at Besh, a wry grin on his lips. "I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I wish Lici would hurry back."4'Abjan had been working this same piece of wood for the better part of the day, and still it wasn't right. It never would be. Every time he managed to plane it to the right shape, he'd leave too many rough edges. And by the time he smoothed them away, using the chisels, rasps, and smaller planes scattered over his father's workbench, the lines were wrong again. He was covered with wood-curled shavings, small chips, finer dust. So was the workbench, and the floor, and just about everything else in the shop. Yet he was no closer to finishing it than he had been hours ago. It just looked… wrong, and if he worked it any more, he'd leave this piece smaller than the matching one his father had already made for the other side of the chair.heard the door open and close, but he didn't turn. His father had been in and out all day long, delivering pieces, doing repairs, checking in with D'Abjan's mother and sisters, who were at their table in the marketplace, selling the last of the herbs and dye flowers to have come from their garden this year. Perhaps he'd forgotten something, or had returned for whatever tools he needed for his next repairs. Maybe D'Abjan would have a few moments more of peace before his father saw how poorly he had done. He should have known better.
"Let me see how it's coming along," his father said, trying to sound jovial, or encouraging, or anything other than what he was: resigned to yet another of D'Abjan's failures.crossed to where D'Abjan stood and hovered at the boy's shoulder. After a moment, he sighed. D'Abjan didn't need to look at his face to know that he was frowning, calculating the cost of the wasted wood, the delay in hours or days that D'Abjan's poor workmanship would cost him.
"You've tapered it too much," he said at last.'Abjan kept his eyes fixed on the workbench. "I know."
"You need to keep the plane level as you work a piece like this. You can't allow it to bite so deeply. A woodworker can always carve away more, but he can never replace what's already been taken out."
"Yes," D'Abjan said as evenly as he could. "You've told me before." "And yet still you don't heed what I tell you."
"I tried," he said, glaring at his father. "I told you I wasn't ready to do this."
"This is the third year of your four as an apprentice. By my third year, I was making entire pieces. Chairs, tables, benches. I made a wardrobe during my fourth year: top to bottom, all on my own. At this rate you'll still be doing piecework a year from now."
"Well, I guess I'll never be the woodworker you are, will I?" "That isn't what I meant."
"Isn't it?"father looked at him sadly. "Isn't it just as likely that my father was simply a better teacher than yours is?"'Abjan dropped his gaze, his cheeks burning. After a moment he shrugged.father stepped into the storage room and emerged a moment later with a new piece of the same maple D'Abjan had been working.
"Start it again," his father said. "Try making the shape right first, even if it turns out too big for the chair. We can work on getting it to the right size later. Together. But concentrate on this first."nodded. "All right."father patted his shoulder and started toward the door again. "I have one more repair to do over at the smithy. I'll be back soon."
"Father."father turned.
"Can I take a walk first, get out of here for just a bit?"
"I suppose," his father said, frowning slightly. "Not too long though. Madli's been waiting for her chair long enough."'Abjan began to take off his work apron. "I won't take long. I promise."
"Very well."father left their house. Moments later D'Abjan was out the door as well, though he took care to go in the opposite direction, away from the marketplace. Away from anyone who might see him.remained on the path for just a short while, strolling past the last of the homes on this western edge of Greenrill. Once he couldn't see that last house anymore-and no one there could see him-D'Abjan turned off the lane and ducked into the wood, fighting his way through the brush and pushing past low cedar branches to a small clearing he'd visited before.he found a freshly fallen tree limb-cedar, of course; it grew in abundance in this part of the highlands. He took out his pocketknife and peeled away the bark in long, smooth strips. Then he sat in the middle of the clearing and he began to draw upon his magic, his V'Tol. His power. He'd discovered that he could do this only a few turns before. Other boys his age here in the village had been talking about being able to do things. Some could start fires, others could speak with birds and foxes, coaxing them to take food from their hands. D'Abjan could shape. That's what the Qirsi called it. The real Qirsi; the ones who used their powers every day. He'd heard peddlers talking about them, about their powers. Shaping. He was a shaper.that he wasn't. He was Y'Qatt. By using his magic, even once, even for an instant, he was violating the most basic tenets of his faith, going against everything that his mother and father had taught him.placed his hands over the wood, as he had so many times before, and he began to shape it, smoothing the edges, narrowing it at one end, turning it into the same chair arm he'd spent the morning trying to create in his father's shop. It was so easy, as natural as breathing, as immediate as thought. Whatever his shortcomings as a woodworker, he had taught himself to be a fine shaper. Too bad his father could never see what he had learned to do.'d heard what the Y'Qatt clerics said about V'Tol. Who among the Y'Qatt had not? V'Tol was life, it was the essence of what they were. All Qirsi, not just the Y'Qatt. Those who chose to use their magic as a mere tool, or worse, as a weapon, were squandering the gift of life given to all of Qirsar's children, a gift from the god himself. That was why using their magic weakened a Qirsi. That was why those who spent their power the way men and women of both races spent their coin in a marketplace died at a younger age than did those who held tightly to the V'Tol. It made sense.if Qirsar hadn't intended for his children to wield this magic, why had he made it so easy to use, so powerful, so satisfying? Why had he given them different abilities-shaping and fire, language of beasts and mists and winds, gleaning and healing? Why had he made the V' of at all? He wanted to ask this of his father and mother, of Greenrill's prior, of anyone who might be willing to give him an answer. But he knew that the question itself would so appall whoever he asked that he was better off remaining silent.it was, if his parents ever learned what he did in this clearing, they would be ashamed. They might banish him from their home or even from the village itself. So, after gazing for a few moments at the wood he had shaped, he tossed it onto the ground a few spans from where he sat, and drawing on his magic once again, he shattered the limb into a thousand pieces. This felt satisfying, too, though in an entirely different way. For just an instant, he could imagine himself as a warrior in one of the Blood Wars, fighting against the Eandi sovereignties, wielding this power he possessed in a noble cause. Of course, his parents would have seen this as a betrayal as well, a worse one perhaps than the simple conjuring he had done just a short time before.'Abjan exhaled heavily, then climbed to his feet and started back toward the dirt road. His father would be back at their house before long, back in the workshop, and would wonder where he'd gone.he approached the road, he peered toward the village, making certain that no one was watching before setting foot on the path. He hadn't taken two steps, however, when he heard a low groan from behind him. He gasped and spun, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.rather than seeing his father, or the prior, or anyone else from Greenrill, as he had feared, he saw a woman he didn't recognize.had white hair, and at first D'Abjan assumed that she was Qirsi-a peddler maybe, or an Y'Qatt from another village. But then he realized that her skin was too brown, and that her eyes were so dark that they looked black. An Eandi then, and injured by the look of her.that moment, the woman looked up at him and halted. She seemed to teeter briefly, and then she collapsed onto the road.'Abjan hurried to her side. There was a knot the size of an egg at her temple. Already it was darkening to a deep angry purple, the color of storm clouds early in the Harvest. Blood oozed from the middle of the lump and there were small pieces of dirt and rock embedded in her skin.
"What's your name?" he asked her, not quite knowing what to do. She merely groaned.looked her over quickly and decided that she had no other wounds. She had been carrying two large baskets, each one covered with a blanket. Peeking inside of them, he saw that both containers were filled with smaller baskets of fine quality. She also wore a carry sack on her back. She was dressed simply, and she wore no jewelry.
"Can you tell me where you've come from?"she didn't answer.last, D'Abjan scrambled to his feet. "I'm going to get help," he said, though he wasn't certain she could even hear him. "We're near our village. I won't be long." And with that, he ran back to his father's shop.father was waiting there for him, his arms crossed over his chest, a stern look on his round face.
"Where have you been?" he demanded. "Didn't I tell you-?" "There's a woman!" D'Abjan said. "And she's hurt!"eyes narrowed. "What woman? Where?"
"On the road just west of the village."
"What were you doing there?"
"Just walking. She's hurt, Father. She has a bruise on her head and she was unconscious when I left her."
"Who is she? Do you know her?"'Abjan shook his head. "She's Eandi. A peddler from the looks of her. I've never seen her before."
"All right," his father said. "We'll get Pritt. Come along."had been the healer in Greenrill for longer than D'Abjan had been alive. And he looked it. He was bent and he looked frail, with wispy white hair and a narrow, gaunt face. But he'd seen the village through injuries caused by floods and fires, as well as through several outbreaks of Murnia's pox. And despite his age and appearance, he remained spry. If anyone could help the old woman, he could.found the old healer in the marketplace, buying healing herbs from an Eandi peddler.
"Pritt," D'Abjan's father called, approaching the man. "You're needed on the road west of the village."old man turned slowly at the sound of his voice and stared in their direction, squinting as if to see. "Who is that?"
"It's Laryn, healer. And my boy, D'Abjan."
"Ah, Laryn," the man said, grinning. "Good to see you. What's this about the road?"
"There's a woman there. Eandi. The boy found her," he added, gesturing toward D'Abjan. "She has a head injury and she's unconscious."healer frowned. "All right. Can the two of you manage to carry her to my house?"'Abjan's father looked at the boy, a question in his pale eyes. "I think so," D'Abjan said.healer nodded. "Good. Meet me there."started to walk toward his home, and D'Abjan and his father hurried back to where the woman lay.it turned out, she was so light that Laryn could carry her by himself, leaving it to D'Abjan to carry her baskets and travel sack. He started to lift one of the blankets to look once more at the baskets she carried, but his father spoke his name sharply, stopping him.
"Those aren't yours to look in" was all he said.'Abjan nodded and picked up the woman's things.stranger moaned once when Laryn lifted her, her eyes fluttering open briefly. But she didn't stir again before they reached the healer's cabin and laid her on a pallet by his hearth.old healer shuffled to her side and bent over her, looking intently at the bruise on her head. After some time, he straightened and clicked his tongue twice.
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